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But I refuse to let him know that and start toward the stairs.
He sticks out his arm, stopping me. “No. I’m going to do it. I need to … work on this.” Then, with a deep breath, he takes a step onto the stair below him.
His foot is trembling and the stair squeaks. So does the breath he releases.
He mutters something under his breath then. It takes me a moment to realize that he’s counting. He’s scared. He may not be letting that on completely as he dares another step, but every single one of his movements is shaking, as if he’s stepping toward the edge of a cliff and is about to fall.
I want to be clear here. I’m not a huge fan of Zay. He’s hot and cold, and it makes me feel like I’m constantly getting whiplash. However, I get fear. I get having to face fears on a daily basis. And I understand that feeling he probably has right now. That one where your stomach twists with nausea because it thinks that fear is about to eat your entire body alive.
What I do next is solely based on that—and understanding.
I step down onto the stair behind him.
He senses this and turns around, his eyes narrowed. “What’re you doing?”
I shrug, pretending to be calmer than I am. “I figured I’d go with you in case someone is down there and you need backup.”
He cocks a brow at me. “And what’re you going to do if there is?”
“Hey, like I said, I have a wicked right hook. I just didn’t get the opportunity to use it when I jumped in the car. And drugged,” I point out, and I swear he winces. Why, I have no idea. “And if that fails, I can run and get help.”
He considers this like a pain in the ass then finally turns around and grumbles, “Whatever.” He grips the railing and starts down the stairs again, painfully slow.
The stairs are so squeaky, so if someone is down there, they’re going to hear us. Thankfully, the light is on and the air is quiet. I’m hoping that’s a good sign that no one is down there.
I stay close, but not so close that I’m touching him. I can, however, hear him continue to count underneath his breath. When he reaches the bottom of the stairs, Zay lets go of the railing and shakes his hand out as he enters the space at the bottom of the stairs.
I trail behind him as we round the corner of a wall and step into a space filled with boxes, shelves, and dust.
“Wait here,” Zay instructs as he inches farther into the room.
I do as he instructs, even though part of me wants to smart off. But now’s not the time. I’m only down here because he seemed like he needed a buddy, which kind of makes me sound dumb.
I shake my head at myself and focus on looking around. The area doesn’t have a lot of spots for someone to be tucked away in. When I twist around, however, I find another section of the room. This one is much smaller, but a furnace is in the corner. Someone could be over there.
The doctor.
Little bird …
I gulp as I stare at the furnace. He could just be back there. What if he is? I need to know. Know if it’s him. Know if he’s coming for me.
I inch toward the furnace, almost in a trance. Step by step, I get closer. And closer. And closer—
Fingers wrap around my arm, and I nearly jolt out of my skin.
“Don’t.” Zay's breath brushes my ear. Then he maneuvers me to the side, out of his way, and walks back toward the furnace.
I hold my breath as he looks behind it.
“No one’s down here,” he says as he turns around, scrubbing his hand over his head.
I breathe in relief. “You checked the entire house?”
He nods. “And the security footage. I didn’t see anything, so whoever put the note in your pocket either snuck in while the power was off or did it another time.” He lowers his hand, studying me. “Unless you did it.”
I shake my head. Yeah, it’s time for me to go upstairs now. “Why would I do that?” I say as I head up the stairs.
“I don’t know, maybe for attention.” His tone carries a challenging taunt.
